I'm not going to tell you what happened, because the knowledge that any audience members involved were completely unaware as to what was going to take place before they walked into the auditorium, makes what he did even more impossible.

As a magician people always ask me 'How did you do that'? In reality if you actually want to know how a trick works, that's probably the least useful question you could ask. Believe me, the mechanics of magic really are the least interesting bit.

As an avid viewer of his work and stage shows I have been amused, confused and downright bamboozled by him as a showman for years. Like all great artists the moment you think you have worked him out he smashes out a curveball.

Commuting; it's disgusting. Aboard a morning rush hour train you become more acquainted with a neighbour's elbow than its owner, are forced to listen to shrill one-sided perspectives of personal crises, and are forced into positions yogis only achieve after years of spine-worrying atop a mountain.

Chris Kerr possesses an air of watchfulness, borne perhaps from looking out into Berwick Street from the cutting board which sits at the front of his Soho shop. The spectacles he wears are of heavy acetate, the navy suit fitted with little give, the whole look rounded off by black brogues and a metal watch.

For twenty-five years Andy Nyman has worked in theatre, film and television. As an 11-year-old boy, he sat in a Leicester cinema watching Jaws, "There I was, a stocky little curly haired Jew seeing a stocky little curly haired Jew playing the lead in a film, I released this isn't fantasy. I could actually do that."

Earlier this year, I embarked on a journey which saw me take 11 flights, crossing three continents, visiting 11 art galleries in eight cities and sleeping on six couches to amass over 30,000 air miles in just 14 days.